


The Apology Pie

by chemically_yours



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Cas in an apron, Fluff, Human Castiel, M/M, Pie, apple pie actually, fangirl!Charlie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:42:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemically_yours/pseuds/chemically_yours
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Castiel attempts to work his way back into Dean's good humor through his stomach. A fluffy little one-shot written before season 9.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Apology Pie

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this before the start of season 9, so obviously there is a bit of cannon divergence. It was born from my mighty need to have Cas baking Dean a pie while wearing a frilly apron. So enjoy.

 The Apology Pie

 

 Castiel lay on the old worn bed in the room that had been designated as his in the Winchester’s newly acquired secret bunker (Dean kept calling it the ‘Bat Cave’ which Castiel found strange as there were no flying mammals anywhere inside the bunker that he had seen). Dean and Sam had left several hours ago and he had been left to “just get better.” However, he had no way of speeding up the healing of the wound to his stomach, so instead he had spent the past few hours quietly pondering the best way to gain Dean’s forgiveness. Saying “sorry” was apparently no longer good enough. That meant that Castiel would just have to try something else.

 It was curious he thought. Dean had forgiven Castiel instantly in Purgatory for his betrayal and the whole “becoming God” thing. In fact, he’d been overjoyed when they were reunited and stubbornly refused to leave Castiel behind, even at the very end. It wasn’t exactly the reaction he’d been expecting if (when) Dean found him with his noddle once again in working order. Especially since Dean had made it very clear that he didn’t care that Castiel was broken. Castiel had broken Sam’s wall, and that meant that he didn’t deserve any emotions from Dean other than anger and wrath.

 Yet, when it came down to it, Dean had still been willing to forgive, even if it had taken a bit of time. And in that moment by the river, with the vampire looking on and hungry monsters never far away, Castiel had been so tempted to go with Dean and just put all his horrible mistakes behind them. But that wouldn’t have been right. Castiel knew he deserved to be punished for his crimes, and Purgatory had been the perfect place to serve that punishment. So he’d compromised with himself, following Dean and Benny to the portal to ensure that Dean would make it home safely. The promises Dean had made about all the things they would do (“We’re gonna get a ton of pies. One of every flavor. We’ll eat all of them with Sammy and I’ll introduce you to Star Trek. It’s a great show. You’ll love it, Cas. And if you want, before the pies we’ll get some cheeseburgers. I know those make you ‘very happy.’ Benny, man, you wouldn’t believe how many burgers he chomped down on when we fought Famine. The guy turned into the freaking Hamburglar.”) once they had returned to Earth just served as further penance, as each and every one of them became a dagger in his heart composed of all the experiences he’d never get to have.

 And then once again, despite all his efforts to just stay away, he’d wound up back with the Winchesters, making the same horrible mistakes, being manipulated into betraying his friends and causing nothing but hurt. The Angel Tablet had been the last straw for Dean. At first Castiel had thought it was because he’d allowed Naomi to control him and beat Dean within an inch of his life. After reflecting on what he knew of Dean and today’s earlier conversation he’d realized that wasn’t the case. It was the fact that Castiel hadn’t trusted Dean with the Angel Tablet that Dean couldn’t forgive. Castiel had tried to explain it, why he just had to get away, but Dean didn’t seem to want to listen. And really, what could he say? He had just overcome Naomi’s mind control; his head had been fogged with fear and confusion. He’d had to make a decision and act fast. The Angel Tablet was so very important. He couldn’t risk any harm coming to it. Besides, anyone who had the tablet in their possession would become a target. He couldn’t put Dean in even greater harm’s way, not after all he had just done. If he took the tablet and fled then Naomi and everyone else after the tablet would follow, much too preoccupied to try and bother Sam and Dean. It had seemed like a sound decision at the time.       

 Like so many of Castiel’s decisions it’d all gone horribly wrong. He’d underestimated the cruelty of his enemies. He’d been among humanity for so long that he’d forgotten that many of his brothers thought the humans nothing more than mud-monkeys. Now Crowley had the Angel Tablet and Dean was once again angry with him.

 There had to be some way to fix things; to repent and make things up to Dean and Sam. Castiel knew it would be good to do something thoughtful that would please Dean, so he started thinking about the kinds of things he knew Dean liked. He’d been observing Dean on and off since he had gripped him tight and raised him. He had over that time come to observe several things that made Dean happy. Dean enjoyed his car, although Castiel failed to see how that knowledge could help him now. He was fairly certain that Dean would only become angrier if Castiel were to do anything to his “baby.” Right, Moving on. Dean liked loud music of the heavy metal blimp variety. Also not very helpful. Dean liked women. Unfortunately Castiel’s vessel was most definitely not female and he had not a clue how to go about finding a woman for Dean. Nor did the idea of finding a woman for the express purpose of fornication with Dean appeal to Castiel. He decided it was best to discard that idea and find something that would be actually helpful.

Dean enjoyed pie and liquor, such as whiskey and beer. Earlier at breakfast Dean had mentioned that he needed to run out for more supplies, including beer, but he and Sam had gotten distracted with old files before the run could be made. Castiel’s eyebrows rose as he pondered the idea. He would be able to buy Dean all the things he liked best. Beer, a copy of the latest Busty Asian Beauties, and pie, would probably be good items to start with. He could look for other common things the brothers would use once he’d gotten to a store. He had seen Sam and Dean shopping often enough. Hell, he’d watched as the humans had invented bartering before modifying to the currency system used today. Surely he would be capable of making a simple trip to a local convenience store?

             

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So operation ‘Supply run’ had not gone as Castiel had planned. After all the trouble he’d gone through to get supplies and earn Dean’s forgiveness he’d gone and messed everything up worse than before. He’d allowed Metatron to trick him into casting all his brothers and sisters from heaven. He’d had his Grace stolen and become a powerless human. And now, once again, he found himself depending upon the Winchesters to fix all his mistakes. Worse of all, the store had been out of pie!

So several weeks later found Castiel once more lying upon his bed trying to cope with all that had happened. He was so useless, nothing but a miserable fuck-up. All he ever tried to do, all the good he wanted to accomplished always dissolved to ash in his attempts. He destroyed everything he touched. He’d broken heaven! Again! He wasn’t even sure if he could repent at this point. He certainly didn’t deserve forgiveness, especially not from Dean. What was the point of even trying?

Castiel spent approximately three days locked up in his room with such thoughts tumbling through his head before Sam sought him out. The atmosphere had been uncomfortable ever since the brothers had found him. Castiel had, in true Winchester fashion, decided to just avoid his problems and all contact until Kevin finally deciphered the rest of the Angel Tablet and gave him a way to be useful and attempt to reverse the damage that had been done.

When Sam finally came, he brought food, which Castiel supposed was good as he’d been surviving off whatever he could easily acquire ready-to-eat from the kitchen, mostly of the fruit and cracker variety. The first bite of the sandwich, a simple BLT on white bread with a smear of mayo, unlatched the floodgates to Castiel’s appetite. He ate with gusto and chugged the first half of the beer Sam had also brought. Sam sat patiently watching him, waiting for Cas to finish his meal before bringing up the real reason he’d come. At last Cas wiped the crumbs from his mouth and asked after Sam’s condition.

“I’m doing a lot better Cas. Thanks. I think the effects of the trials are starting to wane. Actually I’m more concerned about you right now. How have you been holding up?”

Castiel was surprised Sam would inquire about his health with everything that had happened.

“My body is functioning adequately, Sam. Thank you for your concern.”

Sam shook his head, the barest traces of a grin appearing on his features.

“That’s not what I really meant, Cas. I mean how are you doing, you know, upstairs? Are you okay?”

Castiel frowned and blinked in confusion, unsure as to how to answer. He hardly thought that was a necessary question. Obviously he was quite distressed with the situation at hand. He had not the slightest clue as to how to fix things. He was not sure that he wanted to voice all this to Sam, though as he pondered the situation, he supposed that if anyone were to understand how it felt to mess up so spectacularly, it would be Sam Winchester. He was responsible for the start of the Apocalypse after all. Suddenly Castiel felt very tired. His shoulders and back ached from tension he hadn’t realized was there.     

 Letting out a sigh, Castiel tried to describe to Sam what it felt like to be a complete and utter failure with no hope of redemption. He started with the vast, uncompromising emptiness that permeated his core when faced with the miserable truths of his existence and the pain he seemed to cause all those that surrounded him. He lamented his gullibility and the naivety that made him burn with shame as he repeatedly allowed himself to be manipulated into doing the dirty work for others, whether they be his superiors or demons or a sympathetic follow outcast. He elaborated on the rupturing pain that had pierced him more fiercely than any blade at watching his remaining brothers and sisters plummeting from Heaven with wings afire. At some point tears started pouring from his eyes, but he paid them no heed. He just kept talking, pouring out everything he had ever wanted to say and had never been able to. It felt good, like rains descending upon a parched desert for the first time in years; it was cleansing to talk of these things with someone, possibly the only one, who could relate to everything he’d been through.

Sam was silent through it all. He allowed Castiel to speak, rambling at times, until he seemed to run out of things to say. When at last he fell silent Sam snatched a tissue from the box on the nightstand next to the bed. He held it out to Castiel, who cocked his head in confusion. Gently, Sam wiped at his face before throwing the used tissue away.

“Thank you Cas, for sharing all that with me. You should know that we, me and Dean, we don’t blame you for what happened. It wasn’t all your fault and -”

Sam raised a hand as Castiel opened his mouth to interject.

“No, it wasn’t _all_ your fault. I mean some of it was. Obviously you made choices and you do have to take responsibility for the consequences of those choices and actions. But that doesn’t mean that you should bury yourself in guilt and self-loathing. I’ve tried it. Believe me, it doesn’t do anyone any good to sulk about and hate yourself for something you couldn’t have known was going to happen. The truth is you had good intentions. You were trying to make things right. I understand that. Dean, even though he’s being a dick about it, understands that. We’ve both made our fair share of mistakes. Everybody has. We can’t dwell on the past and what-if’s though. We need to keep moving forward and moving to fix what we can. Understand?”

Castiel nodded his head in assent. Fundamentally he understood every word Sam had just spoken. He still felt the guilt inside of him, clawing and tearing at his being even as he sat calmly across from Sam. He swallowed and pushed it down for now though, trying to focus on the current conversation.

“Dean said that the problem was my good intentions. If he understands then why won’t he listen to me? He barely even looks at me if he can help it. Things were better briefly when we worked together to get the cupid’s bow. He seemed willing to look past everything if it meant we could lock up Heaven, but that was weeks ago. Now it’s worse than ever. I’ve tried to stay out of the way, especially now that I’m so useless without my “Angel mojo.” But he still won’t talk to me. I thought the supplies I bought might help a bit, but that was before Metatron stole my grace, and everything’s a mess again. ”

Sam’s brows knit together in a mixture of confusion and anger.

“Is that why you’ve been staying in here? Because Dean’s being a jerk? Cas, man, I don’t really think he’s angry at you. I mean, he’s a little pissed because you didn’t listen to him again, but I think most of it is just frustration over the whole situation we’re in. I mean think about it, I almost died, and we didn’t even finish closing down Hell after all the effort we put into the trials. Kevin chewed us out about it as soon as we got back, we’re stuck with a humanized mood-swinging Crowley in our dungeon, who-knows-how-many angels wandering around with no idea what they’re doing, and worse of all, you lost your Grace. It’s not just you. He’s been taking it out on everybody. I tried talking to him, but he wasn’t really interested in listening to me. I’m pretty sure Charlie will be able to set him straight, but she’s not due to get here for another few hours. Wait til you meet her, she’s pretty good at handling Dean, and she’s a big fan of yours.” There was a pause and Sam smiled gently at Castiel, before confusion stole over his features. “Did you say something about getting supplies for us? What are you talking about?”

Castiel felt himself smile a bit at Sam’s well-meant words. They cheered him slightly, even if he didn’t believe a word of it. Sam had to be mistaken. Castiel was sure that all Dean’s anger was because of his foolishness. Dean had every right to be angry, and absolutely no reason to forgive him. He didn’t even know why he had brought up that ridiculous attempt at gaining his way back into Dean’s good humor.

“I made several purchases in an attempt to make things up to Dean. Primarily pornography and alcohol, although I also grabbed some bathroom tissue and beef jerky. I bought eggs too, as they are an excellent source of nutrition. Unfortunately they were out of pie. Metatron interrupted me before I could inquire as to another location to secure the dessert. I should have known that it wouldn’t have worked without it. I knew I needed that pie.”

Sam took in the serious expression on Castiel’s face before he began to chuckle. He tried to hold it in, but it was just too much. Cas spoke of the pie with a gravity and severity that made it seem as though it were the key to world peace.

“Oh man Cas, that was you? We were wondering were all that stuff came from. It usually works better if you give gifts like that in person. Ya know? So we actually know what you had in mind. You should tell Dean about this. If he doesn’t know, then he can’t thank you for it. I’m sure if you tell him you tried to get pie he’ll appreciate the sentiment behind it. It was a good idea. It’s almost impossible for Dean to stay mad when there’s a pie in front of him. Hey, maybe we could make a supply run together. With more people here we kinda need to stock up on more food. This time we’ll even get a pie too. What do you think?”

Castiel pondered the idea briefly. If ever he were going to earn Dean’s forgiveness, it would be with pie. Without his wings he would need another way to get to the store. He hadn’t been given a set of keys, but Sam would be able to drive.

“I believe that would be an excellent idea.”

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Cas stared at the selection in front of him, eyes squinting as he struggled with the impossible choice: Which flavor of pie should he buy for Dean? This would be so much easier if Sam would just let him buy one of each, but unfortunately Sam had already made it very clear that no, that would be far too many pies and besides Dean would be happy with just about any flavor as long as it was pie and not cake because there was apparently a huge difference. At hearing that Castiel had made sure to distance himself from the glass display case filled with the bakery’s freshly made and iced cakes. He continued to eye the cakes suspiciously from the corner of his eye while he perused the pies, as though he expected them to launch into a kamikaze attack of frosted terror at any moment.

But back to the pies; which flavor to get? Which one would make Dean happiest? Apple? Blueberry or Cherry? Maybe the chocolate one? But there were also the lemon and key lime ones with the merengue topping. And something called a Boston Crème Pie. Or the new Oreo Delight Cookies and Cream Pie with REAL chunks of Oreo and a chocolate crust. That one had a picture of a small child giving an excited “thumbs up” and exclaiming that kids loved the creamy texture. But Dean was hardly a child, so perhaps Castiel should buy banana custard pie instead?

Castiel had just begun to examine the mini pie tartlets when a small child ran up excitedly and stopped just next to him. The boy briefly debated his options before he snatched up a cherry pie with a particularly golden lattice-work crust. Happy with this decision, the boy ran off again, dessert in hand, a grin plastered to his face. Castiel returned his scrutinizing gaze to the remaining cherry pies. Perhaps they were the best choice after all. And to think he almost grabbed some mini pies! What had he been thinking; they weren’t even full-sized pies! The boy certainly had the right idea. However, just as he reached out, choice finally made, the boy returned, lead sullenly by his mother.

“I told you sweetie, we’re going to make our own pie this weekend with grandma. It will be much better than this one. We’ll pick our own apples in the orchard and everything.”

“But mooooooo-ooooom” came the whiny reply. “I want a cherry pie, like we had at that picnic in July.”

“Too bad. Cherry season is over. It’s apple season now. Trust me, the apple pie will be just as good as that cherry pie and much better than this one. Home-made pies are _always_ better than store bought.”

Castiel watched the pair walk back to their cart before swinging his gaze back around. He glared at the deceitful pies boastfully proclaiming their fabricated deliciousness. “Taste just like home-made” they exclaimed. The woman just now had said that home-made was always better than store-bought. She seemed to think it true of even these pies, despite what the sign said. How dare they lie to him!

That was how Sam found him moments later as he returned with a cart full of groceries.

“Cas, man, I told you. Dean’ll be happy with any- What’s wrong?”

Castiel glanced at Sam before returning his glare to the treacherous treats.

“These pies are not to be trusted. They bear false witness to the quality of their flavor.”

Sam stared slack-jawed as he searched his mind for an appropriate response to that.

“Wha- Cas, What are you talking about?”

“A woman was just here. She told her son that home-made pies are always better than those bought in a store. If that is true, than these cannot be “the best pies in the county” and “taste just like home-made” as the sign claims. The pies are lying.”

Sam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. How could he have ever thought that this would be a simple outing?

“You, uh, you realize that it’s just a marketing ploy, right? These aren’t really the best pies, but it doesn’t really matter. Dean’ll be fine with any one of these. He’s used to store-bought pies. He’ll just be happy that we actually remembered to buy one for him.”

Castiel was unconvinced. He wanted to get Dean the best pie he could, because Dean deserved nothing less than the best. Perhaps…perhaps Castiel could bake a pie himself? It couldn’t be all that difficult, right? Sam was less than enthusiastic with that idea.

“I don’t know man. I’ve never really baked anything before and we don’t even have a recipe.”

Castiel looked up with pleading blue eyes.

“Please Sam. We can find a recipe, can’t we? I could ask that woman. And then I’ll just follow the instructions. It can’t be more complicated than preparing ingredients for spell work. I want to give Dean a pie worthy of his refined palette. He’ll know if I get him a less-than-adequate store-bought pie. This may be the best way to get him to forgive me again.”

Sam doubted he would have been able to say no to that puppy-dog look even if he’d been soulless again.

 

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In the end they hadn’t asked anyone for a pie recipe. Sam simply looked one up on his phone. Of course, they’d once again been faced with what kind of pie to make. Sam finally convinced Cas to go with a simple, traditional apple pie. Cas had been very insistent that they pick the apples themselves, however, Sam was very determined not to make more stops than entirely necessary. Sam won the argument only because he was the driver and he threatened to make Cas walk back.

They returned to find Dean gone, off on an adventure with Charlie, according to Kevin. He raised an eye at their groceries, proclaimed his desire to have Dean cook for them upon his return, and then went back to his work. Sam put away the majority of the food while Castiel neatly arranged the ingredients for the pie and cleaned off the counter for his work. Sam went about finding the different equipment needed, lucky the Men of Letters had been so well stocked.

Finally Castiel was alone in the kitchen, Sam’s laptop open to the recipe they had selected. He frowned in concentration as he read through the steps. It seemed simple enough, although he was uncertain about some of the terminology. He thought about calling Sam back despite the fact that he had already insisted he wanted to perform this task by himself. It was a relief then, when he noticed the video player offering to show the pie making process. With careful, precise movements Castiel directed the mouse to the video and pressed play.

An enthusiastic middle-aged woman appeared and was greeted by cheers. She proudly confessed that this recipe had been in her family for generations and was by-far the best apple pie she had ever had, thank you grandma. Castiel watched the video in its entirety with scrutiny, mentally checking off everything she used with the equipment Sam had left for him. There was no pastry blender for the crust, but the woman happily assured her audience that a fork would work in its place.

Finally, the woman placed her pie in the oven and wished everyone good luck. Castiel began his work as the screen cut to black. The flour and shortening mixed well enough, but Castiel couldn’t shake the feeling that he was doing something wrong. He was missing something. His fork slipped and some flour flew out of the mixing bowl and onto the counter and his shirt. And that was when he realized what he needed.

 

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Kevin stared down at the Angel Tablet, vision blurring as he focused on the sentence he was currently translating regarding the structure of Heaven and the hierarchy of angels. The squirmed around, crashing together and then spreading back out. He was supposed to be looking for the spell Metatron had used, and more importantly a way to reverse it, but he kept getting distracted. Angels were really complex and it was utterly fascinating. His head gave a painful throb and he decided to take a short break. Castiel wandered out of the kitchen as Kevin leaned back and cracked his spine with a satisfying “pop.” Kevin was still weary of the former angel, but after learning a bit more about the angels and their programming he thought maybe he could give Cas another chance.

“Kevin, do you know where Sam is?”

Kevin cracked his knuckles before answering.

“He went to take a nap. Why? You need something?”

Sam had warned Kevin to keep an eye on the kitchen for smoke or other signs of disaster. The bunker was nice after all and it would be a shame if it were to be set on fire.

“Yes. Sam found all the equipment I need to bake a pie, but he forgot to give me an apron.”

“An apron?” Kevin questioned with raised eyebrows.

“Yes. The woman in the video had one to hold her towel and wipe her hands on while she worked. As you can see, I have already had a mishap with the flour. Do you by chance know where an apron would be stored?”

Kevin sighed and got out of his chair.

“Have you already checked the cupboards in the kitchen?”

Cas answered in the affirmative and Kevin gave a thoughtful hum in reply.

“Well, I’m not sure where else they might be kept.” He said as he entered the kitchen. He surveyed the area quickly before crossing purposefully to the pantry. No aprons. “Start checking those drawers over there.” He pointed across the kitchen and Cas was quick to follow his instructions. The two searched the entire kitchen area only to come up with nothing. Kevin was about to tell Cas he’d have to make do without, when he had a thought.

“Hold on a sec Cas. I’ll be right back.”

Kevin wandered down the hall, trying to remember which door it was that led to the linen closet. When at last he reached his destination, he was not disappointed. Stacked neatly in near pristine condition sat several piles of chef’s coats and aprons. There was even one of those poofy hats. He picked one up that looked about the right size and began to shut the door when a small shock of color on the shelf above him caught his eye. He pulled the baby blue fabric down and let out a breathy huff of delight. He fingered the fabric thoughtfully, rubbing it between his fingers pensively. Maybe this would teach Cas to show the Prophet some proper respect. If nothing else, he would have revenge for the earlier threat Cas had given him when he thought he might actually be done with Prophet-ing.

When he returned, Cas took the offering without question. A small part of Kevin had been worried that he’d object, but he seemed to find nothing wrong with the baby blue and white lace apron. Whoever the apron belonged to must have been pretty busty, because the cotton fit over Cas’ chest with only a slight stretch. The baby blue actually looked pretty good over the tight black tee Cas was wearing. Kevin tied the belt into a perfectly feminine bow behind his back, the ends trailing to the tops of his jeans. Castiel thanked Kevin earnestly for his assistance before adding ice water to the bowl on the counter and returning to work. Kevin shrugged and walked out, slightly disappointed that the apron didn’t look quite as comical on Cas as he had been hoping. He reassured himself as he settled back into his chair that Dean’s reaction would almost definitely make up for it though.

 

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Dean came back to the bunker in a pretty good mood. Charlie had taken him out to this local comic book shop that was having a huge clearance sale. His mood had soured when he noticed the bookshelf dedicated to “Supernatural,” but it had picked back up when Charlie introduced him to Dungeons & Dragons. He’d always thought that D&D was seriously dorky and lame, but much like LARPing, it quickly caught his interest. Charlie had only given him a short summary in the shop, but had promised to teach him more once they got a campaign going with Kevin.

Dean was hoping they could convince Sam and Cas to join in too. Dean was sure that having some genuine fun and forgetting all the Heaven and Hell bullshit would be the best way to repair some of the damage that had been done to their relationships. He was especially eager to patch things up with Cas. He hated to admit it, but he missed the Apocalypse. Things had been simpler and for the most part he had known where he stood with Cas. Now most days Dean didn’t even know which way was up. He’d thought they managed to reclaim a bit of themselves in Purgatory, but Naomi had certainly undone all of that. Sometimes Dean could still feel the phantom ache of the wounds Cas had dealt him in that crypt. Although no physical pain could possibly compare to the twisting emptiness in his chest when Cas had looked him in the eye and said he couldn’t be trusted with the Angel Tablet. _He couldn’t be trusted?!? Seriously?!?_ Considering everything that had happened, Dean had probably been the most trustworthy within a 5 mile radius when Cas had chosen to flee. And what had happened? Cas had lost the Tablet. Just one more in a long line of disappointments. Dean was so tired; Tired of getting his hopes up only to have them ruthlessly crushed, tired of the betrayals, tired of hunting and hurting, tired of just everything. When was it all going to end?

Dean was brought out of his reverie by the sight of Kevin, finally looking his actual age (Damn, he was still so young, just a kid really. How could Dean keep forgetting that?), napping in his chair with a slight smile on his face. He saw Charlie beaming and felt a smile tugging at his own face in response. Charlie had immediately taken to the young Prophet upon introduction. The whole “Leviathans and Winchesters ruined our simple normal lives” common ground had really spurred on their fast-growing friendship. Their love of geekery only helped from there. Kevin had been delighted to learn of Sam and Dean’s adventures in MoonDoor.

Charlie opened her mouth to make some inane comment, but was interrupted by a clanging coming from the kitchen. That was odd. Dean’s brow furrowed at the noise. He was the only one that really cooked, so who was in the kitchen? Had Sam finally decided to try his hand in culinary experiments? Kevin twitched awake and looked toward the sounds before looking over at Dean and Charlie.

“Looks like you guys came back just in time. Sounds like Cas is finishing up in there.”

Cas? CAS?! Cas was cooking? Oh no. Dean felt a wave of panic wash over him. Sam was one thing, but Cas? Cas was cooking in his kitchen. Dean’s precious kitchen that he had come to feel more and more protective of with every successful dish he made. Did Cas even know how to cook? What was he trying to make? What if he cut himself on a knife, or burned himself on the stove? What if he set things on fire? Dean couldn’t allow Cas to burn down his precious new home.

He was moving before he was even aware of it, ignoring the follow-up interaction between Charlie and Kevin and missing Charlie’s squeal of delight at whatever Kevin told her. His kitchen was in danger dammit and –

Wow. Just…What…?

Dean wasn’t sure what he had been expecting to walk in on, but it was certainly NOT Cas standing at the sink wearing a decidedly girly apron while sucking on his finger. Sweet Jesus Christ on a cracker. His eyes were closed and that was lace trim and _shit,_ his cheeks were all hallowed out as he sucked and gave a happy little hum of pleasure and when had Dean’s pants gotten so tight? Then the door closed behind him and Cas wasn’t sucking on his finger anymore and Dean was staring at twin pools of blue. It occurred to him that he should say something, but his brain was having a rather difficult time stringing words together at the moment.

It was a good thing then that Cas decided to take the initiative. “Hello Dean.” And just like that Dean was snapped back to reality and the whole reason he had come rushing into the kitchen in the first place.

“Cas-uh what, um, what are you doing?”

Cas broke their definitely-not-overly intense-or-sexual eye contact to look down sheepishly. He turned around to the sink to start washing a large bowl that had been filling up with water. A light blush sprung up on his cheeks as he kept his gaze on his hands cleaning the dishes and not on Dean.

“I…” He cleared his throat and tried again. “I made you a pie, although it’s not done yet. I was hoping it would finish before you returned. It should be done in 20 minutes or so if you don’t mind waiting. I’ll serve it to you as soon as it has cooled to an appropriate temperature.”

Dean stared in open astonishment. Now that Cas mentioned it, he could smell the scent of the pie baking in the air. The light aroma of the crust mixed with…was that cinnamon… and…apples? Cas had made him an apple pie. His mouth began to water and a smile tugged at his lips. Damn it smelled really good.

“Yeah, sure thing…20 minutes you said? Sounds good. Uh…you want any help with those dishes…?”

Dammit. Why was it so hard to find words all of a sudden?

“No. I’m almost done. I will stay here and make sure the pie finishes baking correctly. You should take off your jacket and relax.”

Dean blinked. He hadn’t even realized he was still wearing his jacket. That sounded like a good idea.

“Okay then. Awesome. You uh- you do that then. I’ll just uh, just go and uh yeah.”

Dean stumbled his way back through the door, still completely flustered. It wasn’t until he saw Kevin eyeing him with a smirk that he realized that he’d forgotten to ask Cas about that apron he had been wearing.

 

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Castiel scrubbed the dishes vigorously, determined to leave them spotless and sparkling. Every few seconds he would glance at the oven with apprehension, eyes wandering to the timer as it kept up its countdown. Everything seemed to be going well so far. He’d had a little trouble with the crust sticking to the counter and cracking when he picked it up. He’d done his best to fix up all the flaws, his hands becoming coated with a thick, sticky flour paste that had gotten all over everything he touched. At least the apples had been easy to peel and cut. The cinnamon-sugar mixture he’d been sampling when Dean had arrived tasted adequate. The sweet and spice would blend nicely with the slight tart of the Granny Smith apples (he may have tasted a slice of those too. He needed to be sure everything was good enough for Dean).

As he finished the dishes there was a shift in the scent in the air. The pie still smelled lovely, but now there was a slight burning scent mingling in with it. Castiel felt his stomach drop and in a panic rushed over to the oven, wrenching open the door, absolutely terrified that once again he had ruined his attempt to make amends. How could he have thought it would be okay to take his eyes off the pie for even a second?

A stream of smoke escaped the open door as Castiel peered in anxiously. The burning smell was stronger, but the pie appeared to be perfectly fine. Castiel glanced up at the timer to see that there were 10 minutes left. He reached slowly out for the pie to examine it closer, only to pull back with a sharp hiss of pain as the hot pie plate seared his fingers, giving him a sharp reminder that he was no longer impervious to such high temperatures. Dammit, he’d forgotten the oven mitt. The skin turned red where he’d touched the plate, burning painfully. He grabbed the hand towel from its perch on his shoulder to wrap around his fingers. It didn’t help much. Another sharp inhale reminded him of the pressing manner at hand.

He forced the pain from his mind and fished the oven mitts out of the drawer next to the oven, before finally turning the pie around to see the cause of the horrid smell. The pie itself was fine, it was the filling that was the problem. Like blood and pus bursting forth from an infected wound the light syrup erupted from one of the slits Castiel had cut into the top of the pie with surgical precision. The molten cinnamon-sugar bubbled over the edge of the pan to settle into the smoking black abscess that had formed at the bottom of the oven. Castiel felt his heart sink a little lower with each drop of filling that cascaded to the bottom of the oven. Now, well it wasn’t ruined, but it was certainly no longer the perfect pie he had hoped to present to Dean. Still the pie itself wasn’t burnt so it probably still tasted fine.

He got a napkin and used a knife to scrape the oozing bits onto it. The burnt puddle was a bit more difficult to remove. The heat was just this side of painful, but Castiel ignored it in favor of clearing the oven and eliminating the smoke. The outer edges had dried and charred onto the oven, while the center stuck to the knife and continued to smoke in displeasure. Eventually enough came off that the pie was once again the dominating scent, although Castiel was upset to notice that the burnt sugar still hung faintly in the air, stubbornly refusing to fade. He discarded the napkin and washed off the knife, his burns stinging painfully as he did so. He’d have to remember to ask Dean the proper treatment procedure for burns later. Finally, Castiel pulled up a chair to watch the pie through the window as the timer ticked away. He needed to remain vigilant and be sure to take the pie out as soon as the last five minutes were up. He stared intently, fingers still heated and painful, hoping the pie would be up to Dean’s standards.

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Sam stumbled out into the space they had adopted as their pseudo living room, happy to observe that Dean and Charlie had returned. A yawn stretched his face.

“Well, well. Sleeping Beauty has finally awoken.” Charlie jested from her seat beside Dean. A book and a plethora of dice sat open between them and Dean was staring intently at the piece of paper in front of him, brows creased in concentration. He looked up at Charlie’s comment and grinned.

“Aw leave him alone Charlie. With that face he needs all the beauty rest he can get.”

“Jerk.” Sam grunted as he wandered closer to see what Dean was working on. Dean’s response was immediate.

“Bitch.”

Charlie lifted her head up so quickly Sam was surprised she hadn’t given herself whiplash. A mad grin spread across her face.

“Aw you guys! You did the thing. I was beginning to think I’d never get to see you do the thing.”

Sam and Dean displayed equal looks of confusion at Charlie’s rambling. Before they could voice it however, Kevin spoke up.

“You’re right! This is the first time I’ve heard them do the thing, too.”

Kevin and Charlie shared a secret happy look. Sam knew he was going to regret it, but he asked anyway.

“Okay, what the hell are you guys talking about?”

“Why your beautiful bro-ment of course.” Charlie cooed, in a tone suggesting it should have been obvious. When Sam continued to stare at Charlie with a blank face, uncomprehending, Kevin decided to elaborate.

“The ‘Bitch/Jerk’ insults of affection. It’s a pretty big deal among fans. They were classic moments in the first books.”

And suddenly Sam got it. A quick glance across the table to see Dean’s paling face indicated that Dean also understood.

“Seriously, Kevin? I thought you weren’t going to read them.”

Kevin rubbed the back of his head sheepishly and looked down at the table, apparently no longer to look Sam and Dean in the eyes.

“Well, I wasn’t _going_ to, but Charlie shared the link to the e-books and I was just too curious to resist. And it’s kind of nice to finally know the full story, ya know? You guys never really told me _how_ you became hunters and it’s cool learning about everything that’s out there since my knowledge is limited to whatever I’ve read from the Tablets.

Sam rubbed his face, wondering if it would be possible to take out the website housing the “Supernatural” series. He started to speak. “You could have just asked-”

“That’s it. You two are banned from reading anymore of Chuck’s shit writing. I’m full-frontal in those things. That’s just- no.”

Kevin scoffed and gestured flippantly with his hand.

“No worries, dude. I skip over all of the sex scenes. Trust me, I do not want to know about you two gettin’ it on with anybody.”

“But those are the best parts!” Charlie pouted.

The brothers swiveled to look at her with twin disbelieving expressions.

Realizing what she had said, Charlie sunk down in her chair in mortification. After a moment of awkward silence and staring, she peeked back up and tried to defend herself.

“Well they are. It’s nice to know that you guys still get to have happy moments and honestly for all you’ve done you deserve to get laid as often as possible, even if Sam has a cursed dick and Dean was betrayed by his Angel Lover.”

Unfortunately Castiel chose that moment to emerge from the kitchen.

“What?!? I did not sleep with Cas!” Dean shouted indignantly at the same time Kevin gave an angry “Spoilers, Charlie! I haven’t gotten that far yet. I’m still at Dean getting killed over and over again by the Trickster at Mystery Spot. Which is hilarious by the way.”  Sam’s angry “What the hell Charlie?” was followed by an alarmed frown directed toward Kevin once his last statement registered. Charlie sunk even lower into her chair and wrapped her arms over her head as if to shield herself from the verbal onslaught. Charlie said something then, too muffled to be heard and glanced up. Confusion spread across her face, before melting into awe. Giddy triumph stole over her features. The others turned to see what she was staring at. Sam wondered where the hell Cas had managed to dig up that apron, but decided it was probably better not to ask. When had his life become so weird that he no longer questioned ex-angels wearing frilly aprons in his kitchen doorway? He also briefly wondered at the dark blush suddenly decorating his brother’s face.  “Cas!” Sam almost laughed at Dean’s tone. He sounded completely scandalized.

Charlie launched herself out of the chair, suddenly all smiles and breathless delight. “Cas! You’re Castiel! OMG I can’t believe I’m finally getting to meet you. I wanted to see you when we got back, but Kevin said you were busy, but that doesn’t matter because I’m meeting you at last. Dude, you’re totally awesome and badass and I-” Suddenly remembering herself, Charlie stopped short just in front of Cas, staring up at him with wide eyes and cheeks the color of overripe tomatoes.

Cas stood his ground well, mouth slightly agape at the sudden attention. Sam realized this was probably his first encounter with a fangirl. He was grateful that Charlie was not into guys. They did not need another Becky on their hands.

Cas did his squinty-eye thing before finally responding.

“You must be Charlie Bradbury. I’ve heard that you too are ‘awesome.’ It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Charlie squeaked in delight before wrapping Cas up in a tight hug.

“What are you doing?” Cas sounded completely bewildered. “Dean what is she doing? She isn’t a cupid. Why is she hugging me? Dean why are you laughing?”

Sam started laughing too as Charlie finally let go of the startled man and Dean’s chuckles became audible. Charlie beamed up at Cas. “That was on behalf of all the fans of Supernatural. You needed that hug, trust me.”

“I do not understand. Are you referring to Chuck’s books? I was not aware I had fans.”

Sam sighed. “Trust me Cas, that’s a good thing.” That seemed to soothe some of Cas’s curiosity on the matter. Charlie led him over to the table. “Anyway you’re just in time to start working on your character sheets. You too, Sam. I’m almost done helping Dean and then we’ll get started on yours. Kevin can help.”

“What?” Sam stared at the sheet Charlie had handed him. Charisma points? What did it mean by class? Dean was once again writing on his own sheet, pointedly not looking at Sam.

“I have made the executive decision to initiate a good old fashioned family game night. Except instead of playing Monopoly for 8 hours before flipping the table over in frustration we will be enjoying Dungeons and Dragons for our night of wholesome fun.”

“What?” Sam repeated, clearly still caught off guard with this turn of events.

Finally Dean lifted his head. “Dungeons and Dragons, Sammy. Like Moondoor, only less live-action-y. Charlie’s gonna teach us how to play. Grab some dice. You too, Cas.”

At last, Sam was snapped out of his confused stupor, reminded of Cas.

“Yeah, sure, Just-uh, one minute. I need to talk to Cas first. We’ll be right back.” And with that Sam slung his arm around Cas and dragged him back to the kitchen, never noticing Dean’s look of suspicion directed at their backs.

“Okay man, how’d that pie turn out?” Sam was eager to know if their plan was still viable. He’d been able to detect the faint scent of cinnamon while conversing with the others. That had to have been a good sign.

“Some of the filling made an ill-formed escape attempt, but the pastry otherwise appears adequate.” He said, indicating the dessert sitting atop a cooling rack on the counter. Castiel’s voice took on a sudden anxious note with his next question. “Do you think Dean will like it? He seemed startled when he came in earlier. What if he doesn’t like the pie I made for him?”

Sam frowned at Cas’ tone as he examined the pie more closely. It wasn’t exactly picture perfect, with some of the minute cracks and fissures opening up in spots. He could see the place that the cinnamon sugar had leaked, leaving a slick dark trail on the crust. But the pie really did look good. It wasn’t perfect, but neither were they, and somehow all the little imperfections served to remind him that Cas, who was still struggling in so many ways to be human, had put his best effort into making this pie. Sam smiled gently and told Cas it looked amazing.

“How long has it been out of the oven?” Cas looked over at the clock before answering. “Good, then it’s probably cool enough. Grab the vanilla ice cream out of the freezer and I’ll go get Dean.”

 

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Dean didn’t know what was going on between his brother and Cas, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. Worse, Kevin seemed to be in on what was happening too, if the smug looks he kept directing at Dean were any indication. The little shit kept whispering things to Charlie as Dean worked on distributing points among the various qualities on his character sheet. The two just smiled conspiratorially and ignored the questioning glances he sent towards them. First the “Supernatural” thing and now this. Dean really needed to rethink allowing interaction between his so-called friends.

When Sam emerged and informed Dean that Cas needed him in the kitchen, he wasn’t sure if he was more relieved or nervous. He knew this was probably about the pie Cas had been baking, and anything involving pie had to be good. On the other hand, he really didn’t want to be alone with Cas in that apron. It made him have thoughts he really shouldn’t be having about a man that he considered family. His response to Charlie’s comment earlier was certainly proof of that. Obviously she had been referring to Anna. Dean could see that now. Yet when she had said the words “Angel Lover” the only person that came to mind was Cas. And Dean really didn’t want to think about the implications of that. As he crossed to the kitchen, Charlie’s giddy thumbs up did nothing to calm him.

Sure enough, Cas was still wearing the damn frilly apron, the pie sitting harmlessly in front of him on the counter.

“Hey man” Dean’s voice cracked and he quickly cleared his throat, willing it to work. “Sam said you needed me for something.”

Cas fidgeted nervously. “Yes Dean. I would like to present your pie to you now. Sam said it would taste best still warm. We bought ice cream to go with it if you like.”

Dean noticed the carton on the counter. He licked his lips as he realized that his mouth was watering. When was the last time he’d gotten to have a half-way decent slice of pie? Far too long. And this one was home-made too.  

“Yeah sounds good. I’ll just grab the pie cutter then. You get us some plates.”

Cas turned around and Dean let his eyes drift down to the bow made of the apron straps sitting innocuously in the small of his back. There wasn’t lace there like the rest of the apron, but as Cas lifted his arms to retrieve the plate his shirt rode up, just a bit, just enough to reveal a tiny sliver of pale skin and Dean licked his lips for an entirely different reason now. Then the bow settled back into place, the trailing ends settling just above the top of his back pockets. Which of course meant that when Cas turned around that Dean was staring at the spot where that perky little ass had been. Which meant Dean was now staring at Cas’ crotch and Dean knew he should stop, he was supposed to have gotten the pie cutter, but his imagination was turning full gear now. How hot would it be if that apron was the only thing Cas had on? It would be so easy to bend him over the counter…Or Dean could put the apron on and Cas could get on his knees and duck his head under it while he wrapped those pouty lips around-

The clacking of the plate on the counter brought Dean out of his little fantasy and he adjusted his stance, trying awkwardly to shift his pants back to a more comfortable position. Dean completely came crashing back to reality when he realized there was only one plate on the counter. He glanced up sharply as Cas carefully questioned, “Dean?”

Dean cleared his throat, trying to buy time, as staring into those eyes did funny things to his stomach.

“You seem to be a little short on the plate count there. You can’t expect me to eat this whole pie myself, right? Come to think of it, what is the pie for anyway. You said earlier that it was for me, but what’s the occasion, Cas?”

Cas broke eye contact, staring down at the pie still cooling on the counter between them.

“The pie is for you Dean. It’s an-” he took a deep breath and looked back up into Dean’s eyes. “It’s my apology, for everything. I’m so sorry Dean. Everything is all my fault again and I swear I will do whatever it takes to lock all my brothers and sisters back up in Heaven. I never meant for any of this to happen and I’m sorry I was so naïve. I shouldn’t have trusted Metatron. I should have known when he asked me to kill the Nephillium that something was wrong. Everything I attempt to do keeps going all wrong and I keep dragging you into it even when I try my hardest to protect you.”

Dean looked down at his feet and brought a hand up to wipe across his mouth. At some point he must have gotten something in his eyes, because they felt kind of watery. He almost couldn’t believe the amount of guilt and sorrow in Cas’s voice. The anger at what Cas had done twisted familiar in his gut. But looking at the pie on the counter brought an acute ache to his chest. And then the weariness was back. Dean was so damn tired of being mad. He was tired of the cracks in his heart. He was tired of never getting to say what he really wanted to. He was tired of putting everyone else first, tired of always being so selfless. He was tired of pretending that whatever this thing between him and Cas was didn’t mean nearly as much to him as it did. As the first tear fell, Dean realized that mostly, he was just sick and tired of being tired.

 

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Castiel, if he were being honest with himself, was expecting anger. A small part even feared that Dean would reject his apology completely, not even touch the pie, leave it to mold and rot on the counter along with his heart. Even in his wild, hope-filled fantasies, the best he could envision this encounter turning out was a return to the way things had been before Metatron’s betrayal. In his mind, Dean would eat the pie, maybe even thank Cas for it, and then be slightly less mad. He certainly wouldn’t be entirely forgiving. That would take time. However, Sam seemed to be right about Charlie’s influence. Dean had actually been laughing earlier. Castiel didn’t dare believe even for an instant that they could regain the profound bond they had once shared, but with Dean in a good mood, maybe their friendship was still salvageable.

So, when Dean finally straightened up and met Castiel’s eyes, he was completely caught off guard. He stared, completely mesmerized by the single tear trailing down Dean’s face. What had brought that on? Where was the anger? He was so distracted by the tear that he almost missed Dean calling him an idiot in a gruff whisper.

He couldn’t imagine what Dean could be doing as he slowly maneuvered around the counter separating them. He continued to stare uncomprehendingly as Dean reached out to cup his cheek tenderly. A hug, maybe? Castiel hadn’t thought things could possible go well enough to receive an embrace from Dean. And Dean hadn’t even tasted the pie yet! Surely this meant that it had worked, Dean was going to forgive him, things weren’t completely ruined and-

And then Castiel stopped thinking for one brief instant as soft lips met his own and he finally realized that this wasn’t a hug at all. Dean was kissing him. Dean was _kissing_ him! Panic set in and breathing was forgotten as Castiel grappled desperately for the proper way to respond. What was he supposed to do? This wasn’t like that time with Meg, and Dean had been disapproving of the Pizza man so it would probably be a bad idea to use that example here. He’d watched humans fornicating for millennia, he should know how kissing normally went, except this wasn’t normal, this was Dean. Why was Dean kissing him? Unless maybe it wasn’t at all what Castiel thought it was. He was still new relatively new to being human and there was still so much he didn’t know. Perhaps there was a custom he was unfamiliar with…

It took Castiel a moment to realize that somewhere in his racing thoughts Dean had pulled away and was now looking down at him.

 

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Okay, so that probably hadn’t been one of Dean’s better ideas. But honestly, he hadn’t even realized he was going to kiss Cas until he was already there. He’d thought as their lips met that he’d probably wind up pinned to the wall if Castiel’s passed behavior was anything to go by. So when there was no response at all, not even a twitch, Dean immediately pulled back and started to worry. He’d been wrong, horribly, horribly wrong. Cas didn’t want him after all and Dean had totally just fucked things up worse than before.

Cas’s eyes cleared as he kept his gaze on Dean. Slowly he brought his hand up to trace over his lips with a finger. He stared at Dean with child-like wonder, complete disbelief evident on his face. Then his face darkened and there was a certain sadness in his eyes when he spoke.

“I was not aware it was customary to offer a platonic kiss when an apology is presented.”

Cas was slightly breathless and Dean felt his cheeks flush as he stuttered out a response.

“It’s –uh. It’s not. Customary. And it wasn’t..” he swallowed and steeled himself with a deep breath. “It wasn’t meant to be platonic.”

“Oh…” Cas sighed out softly. He offered no other response, staring up at Dean, waiting for whatever came next. He didn’t step back though and that was enough for Dean.

Words had never really been an effective way for them to communicate. Actions always spoke louder than words, right? Besides this particular set of actions were always fun.

He cupped Cas’s cheek again, brushing his thumb soothingly over his cheekbone. Dean moved haltingly, bringing his head down slowly to give Cas time to push away. He didn’t. Dean’s other hand snaked its way into Castiel’s hair and tugged to get his head at the proper angle to slot their lips back together.

As far as kisses went, it was nothing fancy. A simple press of lips against lips, Dean’s parted ever so slightly to capture Cas’s upper lip between them. They parted and came together several times in this matter before Dean opened his eyes to see Cas still staring, unsure and a little bit frightened, but so very trusting. Dean held that gaze as he pulled back and leaned his forehead against Cas. They stood like that, completely engrossed in each other, breathing one another’s air for a small eternity.

Dean knew he should say something, but the words were lost before they even came to his mind. He tried to figure out where he was going with this, what it was that he wanted. He thought about tilting his head back for another kiss, but he wasn’t sure if he’d want to stop once they got started. Besides, with Sam and the others just in the other room, the kitchen probably wasn’t the best place for anything too hot and heavy.

Instead, he pulled away. Later, they would figure things out, after spending hours being lead through dank and dirty dungeons by Charlie while laughing and yelling at each other through mouthfuls of apple pie. Later, after Dean stayed up to help Cas with the dishes only to end up splashing sudsy water all over both of them, initiating a minor water war and Dean finally grabbed a hold of Cas’s shirt (the apron folded and sitting on the counter) and crushed their bodies together, all the gentleness of their first kiss gone, passion making them rough and sloppy with bruising force and clacking teeth and slick tongues. Later, after Dean got fed up with the hard edges of counters and the unforgiving press of the walls and floors and dragged them both back to his room with soft memory foam (boy, would it have some fun things to remember now) and the roughness gave way to sweet, tender kisses pressed to salt-sweat skin as they moved together, finally, slow and forceful and loving. Later, when they collapsed together in their spent passion and stayed awake to murmur softly in between long-overdue kisses, they would say everything that needed to be said.

For now though, there were other important matters at hand.

“So,” Dean started, ginning down at Cas like an idiot but unable to force his lips to straighten out, “how about that pie?”

 

 

 

~END~


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